


heat

by ghostsies



Category: Dreamer Trilogy - Maggie Stiefvater, Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Canon Compliant, Established Relationship, F/F, F/M, Other, Post-Canon, Threesome, assumptions are made about the state of things post canon, background ronan hennessy and adam, established jordeclan, its orla’s world we’re just living in it, loverboy declan in this one lads, orla and jordan have sex and declan is there, that’s mostly a joke
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-18
Updated: 2021-03-18
Packaged: 2021-03-27 00:41:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30114519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghostsies/pseuds/ghostsies
Summary: Jordan says, “So. Orla. Old friend?”“I wouldn’t say that,” Declan says, remembering very little of Orla or anyone from Henrietta’s public high school aside from heated hookups in cars or in unoccupied rooms with lockable doors at parties. The edited version he presents is, “We had mutual acquaintances.”Jordan hums at that, smiling with some sort of mischief, as though she knows something he doesn’t.“I like her,” she says.“Oh,” Declan says, sliding coasters under each of the glasses on the coffee table. “Good.”“No—I really like her.”When Declan looks up at her, he’s surprised at the rush of heat he feels. It’s because he knows that look in her eyes, the mix of playfulness, daring, and wanting. He pauses, weighing this. Then, “Are you asking if we can have a threesome with Orla Sargent?”Jordan smiles at him, brilliantly.
Relationships: Declan Lynch/Orla, Jordan/Declan Lynch, Jordan/Declan Lynch/Orla Sargent
Comments: 7
Kudos: 56





	heat

Declan really doesn’t think anything is going to happen until it’s happening.

But it happens like this. Adam visits the women at 300 Fox Way for some sort of psychic convening that Ronan tries to explain but Declan doesn’t fully understand. He’s not sure Ronan fully understands, either, and when he makes a joke about Adam’s involvement in witchcraft Ronan tells him, “ _That’s_ the sin you’re worried about?”

That’s fair, Declan thinks. 

While he’s there, Adam mentions to Blue that a bunch of his friends at school have offered to pay him for readings once word got out that he was any good. 

Maura gives him a look that says _Your particular brand of psychic intensity isn’t a good candidate for flashy card tricks, Adam_ , and Adam gives a shrug that says, _That’s why I’m still paying my tuition with my miserable work study, Maura._

Orla, Blue’s cousin, is nearby tapping at her phone when he says this. She pauses and looks up at Adam to say, “Wait, you have rich Harvard friends who want to _pay_ you? Like, a lot?”

So Orla talks her way into accompanying when Adam goes back to school and secures a noncommittal grunt from him when she asks to be introduced as his equally-psychic cousin. Ronan’s going to drive because he always takes Adam back to school if he can manage. Blue says she’s going to come because she doesn’t trust Orla to behave, but her work schedule says otherwise. 

That’s fine, Ronan tells her, because the beamer can fit five, but it’s really more comfortable with four, and Hennessy wants to come so they can stop in DC on the way and see Jordan, who isn’t living with Declan technically but has been staying with him, and _Hennessy, I’m not fucking getting in the middle of this again._ Orla discovers during the ride to DC—and Declan discovers later—that Hennessy is, in fact, determined to put Ronan in the fucking middle of it again.

That evening, Declan waits for a text from Ronan to confirm that they’ve made it to the hotel. He doesn’t receive one. He does receive a knock at the door, which he and Jordan are both expecting to be Hennessy. Instead, it’s Blue’s cousin—Orla.

“I got bored at the kid’s table,” Orla tells them, and holds up a bottle of wine. “Don’t worry, I came with a gift.”

"How do you know where I live?” Declan asks her, immediately. Jordan looks at him and cocks her head. It was maybe not the thing to ask—at least, not before hello—but old habits died hard, and all that. He flashes an apologetic look to Jordan that says as much.

“Hennessy lost the address and your brother gave it to her. She was about to head this way, but they were still bickering about something when I left,” she explains breezily, shifting her weight to her other hip.

Declan thinks he should probably talk to Ronan about giving out his address in front of strangers. He also thinks that Orla probably couldn’t be considered a stranger if she was part of Ronan’s best friend’s family, the same who had adopted Adam in all the ways that mattered. The hitman who had murdered Niall Lynch and beat Declan half to death once was also part of that family, but Declan decides that detail isn’t immediately relevant.

He feels Jordan watching him process. He considers that he’s out of wine, anyway, and that he’s going to start looking rude if he doesn’t say anything soon. 

“Right. Sorry. Come in,” is what he settles on.

“I thought it would be nice to visit an old friend,” Orla tells them both as she breezes past Declan, places the bottle of wine on the counter, and glances around Declan’s loft. She turns to Jordan to clarify, “We knew each other in high school. Sort of.” 

The way she said it felt weighted, but then again, Orla’s voice was always weighted, heavy with double meaning if one felt inclined to look for it. 

“Ah,” Jordan says, amused. Declan catches her look Orla up and down. “Let’s open that wine, shall we?”

They do. Then they relocate from the entryway to the living room, to the sleek furniture Declan had purchased when he left the townhouse behind. Declan takes to one of the armchairs, and Jordan settles on the angular loveseat, where Orla joins her. She lounges comfortably, as though she had been there a thousand times. She possessed the sort of confidence that came from someone who knew—or at least believed—how beautiful they were. Orla _was_ beautiful, and it was apparent that she also believed it.

They make small talk. Orla compliments Declan’s place. He thanks her. Orla fields Jordan’s questions about what being psychic is like, generally, and tells Jordan she can read her palm, if she wants. Jordan holds her hand out, palm up, and Orla holds it with one of her own, trailing the fingers of her other hand across the lines.

“Strong love line,” she murmurs. “Some forking, here.”

“What does that mean?” Jordan asks her.

“Multiple lovers,” Orla says, shrugging. “Among other things.”

Jordan hums at that and looks to Declan, raising a brow. Orla looks at him, too, and lifts her wine glass. 

“Do you want a reading?” She asks, watching him as she sips.

“I don’t,” he says, and refills her glass when she places it back down. “But thank you.” 

Orla watches him for another moment, a glint in her eye, and then says, “Alright. Bathroom?”

He tells her it’s down the hall. When they hear her click the door shut, Jordan says, “So. Old friends?” 

“I wouldn’t say that,” Declan says, remembering very little of Orla or anyone from Henrietta’s public high school aside from heated hookups in cars or in unoccupied rooms with lockable doors at parties. All this time later, most of the instances blended together. The edited version he presents is, “We had mutual acquaintances.”

Jordan hums at that, smiling with some sort of mischief, as though she knows something he doesn’t.

“I like her,” she says.

“Oh,” Declan says, sliding coasters under each of the glasses on the coffee table. “Good.”

“No—I _like_ her.”

When Declan looks up at her, he’s surprised at the rush of heat he feels. It’s because he knows that look in her eyes, the mix of playfulness, daring, and wanting. He pauses, weighing this. Then, “Are you asking if we can have a threesome with Orla Sargent?”

Jordan smiles at him, brilliantly.

“Let’s see where the night goes,” she says, and shrugs as she throws back the rest of her wine. Declan doesn’t have time to say anything else about it, because Orla returns, sitting right back next to Jordan on the loveseat. 

From there, the night unfolds rather quickly—Jordan’s hand on Orla’s leg as she leans in to laugh at something Orla says. Declan watches how the tips of her fingers press into skin, just lightly, and how Orla smiles back at her and moves a stray curl out of Jordan’s face. Jordan, looking to Declan only briefly, before ghosting her fingers across Orla’s arm, testing. Orla leaning in, until Jordan takes her hands to Orla’s face and brings their lips together. 

Watching Jordan turn it on was fascinating. He had been the object of it—and enjoyed that, a lot—but watching it happen from this perspective was something else entirely. He wanted to take notes. He wanted her to touch him.

He watches as they kiss, light and tentative until it isn’t. Jordan moves her hands from Orla’s arms to the back of her neck, and Orla leans Jordan back against the arm of the couch, moving from her mouth and down her jaw. Jordan makes a noise that Declan’s dick registers before his ears. 

“Are you waiting for an invitation, Lynch?” Orla asks him, husky and sweet, as she ghosts her mouth and tongue across Jordan’s collar bone. 

He exhales, measured, and moves to them. He wonders if this is all really a dream—Blue’s family _did_ deal in mildly psychoactive teas, and he _had_ left his drink alone once or twice this evening—but when Jordan’s hand slides softly down his forearm, across the back of his hand and up underneath his shirt, he knows it’s real. It’s real by the way his stomach always flips when she touches him, her favorite way, underneath his tailored layers to press her palm against his bare skin.

Declan leans down to kiss her—soft, slow, deep, the way he knows she likes. When they part, he looks at Orla, who is watching them with simmering interest. He nods at her.

“It’s on, cowboy,” she murmurs, and reaches for his face so she can pull him down for a kiss.

He doesn’t recall anything about what kissing her was like before, but it’s pleasant now, soft. As she does this, Jordan takes his hand and guides him down between the two of them so she can kiss at the crook of his neck. It’s hard for him to pick a sensation to focus on, especially as Orla works the button and zipper and button of his jeans free and, without any preamble, takes him into her mouth.

Declan pulls away from Jordan and inhales, sharp, just as Orla trails her tongue once more along the length of him and then removes herself.

“Just saying hello,” she says. “It’s been so long.”

He thinks that probably should be weird—it might have been, if he wasn’t so turned on. That, and he doesn’t really have time for any thinking, because Jordan pulls his sweater and undershirt up over his head. He takes it the rest of the way as Orla joins Jordan in kissing at the freshly bared skin.

It only lasts for a moment before Orla slides a finger under Jordan’s chin to guide her away from Declan and into a kiss. He watches, heat flooding through him, as they both grow a little more urgent. Jordan takes her hand first above Orla’s shirt, and then underneath, to palm at her breasts. Orla leans over Declan—he leans back and loops his arm around her so she can find better leverage—and squeezes Jordan’s thigh, ghosting her hand along Jordan’s panty line and then below it, slipping her fingers between Jordan’s legs. 

Jordan moans. They go to the floor. 

Orla pushes the coffee table out of the way—Jordan pulls her shirt off and she exhales heavily while Orla presses kisses along her belly, hip, thigh. She looks up at Jordan, who looks back at her and nods. 

They help each other get the rest of Jordan’s clothes out of the way, and then Orla brings her mouth to Jordan, who makes a noise of encouragement and spreads her legs a little wider. 

This is the only thing that gives Declan a pang of jealousy, but it’s overrun by how bad he _wants_. Jordan arches into Orla’s mouth. Orla teases her tongue into Jordan with practiced ease. Declan much preferred being the one between Jordan’s legs, but he knew that Jordan was enjoying this, and that alone was intoxicating.

“Declan,” Jordan gasps, reaching to him, and he readily lets her pull him down so she can kiss him. It’s less of a kiss and more of a pant against his mouth as Orla works her undone. Declan moves from her mouth to her jaw, her ear, the softest parts of her neck, her shoulder, her breast, kissing hot and sweet at her skin as she threads her fingers into his hair and pulls. He makes a sound at this—Jordan whispers his name again and tugs a little harder.

“Oh,” Jordan chokes, and Declan looks up at her. She’s breathing heavy, lips parted, face flushed. Orla kisses at Jordan’s thigh and hip, leaving small hickeys along the way, until she meets Declan’s eyes. 

“Do you want her?” Orla asks, voice low, as she licks her lips. 

He does. Jordan always took his breath away, but especially when she was like this: naked and sprawled in front of them, want dark in her eyes. He could tell she was already near the edge and he wanted to bring her to it, to give what she needed, to hear her say his name again. 

Orla leans across Jordan and places her hands on either side of Declan’s face. He leans into one, turning his head to press a kiss to one of her palms, and she drags her hands down his neck to pull him into a kiss. She tastes like Jordan, he thinks, and loses focus. It didn’t feel like the heat could keep building, but it does now: he licks along Orla’s lip, encourages the kiss to deepen, and feels Orla smile against him. 

“She’s good,” Orla whispers, agreeing with something Declan hadn’t verbalized, like a secret between the two of them. Jordan, where she lies between them, takes one of Declan’s hands and brings his thumb to her mouth. She presses her tongue against it as she sucks, gently, and Declan exhales and thinks of how fucking bad he wants her. 

He hears Orla tell him to lay down over the sound of his own heartbeat. Dazed, he does. 

“Good boy,” she coos, and Declan shivers. Orla must clock this response, because when Declan reaches for Jordan as she climbs onto him, Orla grabs at his hands and pins them. Jordan positions herself on top of him and teases, bringing his dick against her so he can feel how slick she is. She takes her time with that, and Declan feels unraveled by the time she finally takes him in.

Declan exhales, whispers _fuck_ or _God_ or _Jordan_ or some combination of the three, and closes his eyes. Orla keeps his hands down but leans over to kiss him while Jordan works into a rhythm—she takes him deep but moves so slowly it would be near painful if he wasn’t also relishing it. He knows the pace is because she’s enjoying him, taking her time to work him in, but also because she liked to watch him respond to her. Jordan slides her hands across his abdomen, raising chills, and up to his chest for leverage. Declan moans into Orla’s mouth, and she presses her mouth against his ear to whisper.

“Listen,” Orla says against his ear. He nods, and she presses another kiss to his lips, almost chaste. She looks up to Jordan, pausing on a question, testing the correctness of her guess. 

“Tell him what you want,” Jordan breathes, nodding. “He likes that.” 

She was well versed in how Declan liked instruction, how he liked to give his partners exactly what they needed. How the satisfaction of giving pleasure was almost as much as any pleasure he could receive himself—but they were working that out. _Tell me what_ you _want_ , Jordan had whispered to him more than once, bringing his hand between her legs. _I want you to feel what I feel_ , she would tell him, taking him into her mouth and taking her time.

Orla, with her hands still interwoven with Declan’s firmly against the floor, leans back to his ear. It does nothing to soothe how flushed he feels.

“You’re gonna eat me out while I watch your baby come,” she says. “Yes?” 

"Yeah,” Declan breathes, voice rough. Jordan does something with her hips that makes him squeeze Orla’s hands, his eyes fluttering closed. 

“Good,” she murmurs, and then moves from his ear to his lips. She kisses him once, and then against them she adds, “And—don’t finish till I say so.”

“Come here, then,” Declan tells her. He meets her eyes, but then he can’t help but look to Jordan. She was stunning when she was focused like this. He wants, almost more than anything, to bring himself up to her so he can feel her bare skin against his own. He brings his eyes back to Orla—he also wants her to sit on his face. She smiles. 

Orla strips the rest of her clothes and positions herself on top of him, facing Jordan. She moves his hands to her legs before she releases his fingers from her own—he says _Yes, m’am_ , by pulling her down to his mouth, digging his fingers into the meat of her thighs. He feels Orla shiver a little as he first presses his tongue against her, testing.

Jordan has started making breathy noises as she rides him, which is incredibly distracting, that and how infuriatingly good she feels. Declan tries to ignore this, determined to keep it together, as he works his tongue against Orla.

She shifts and rolls her hips against his mouth, which is a welcome distraction. He groans, low, and twirls his tongue around her clit, licks inside her, and wraps his lips around her, like eating a peach. She gasps—Declan considers this a win. He does it again and Orla shakes, just slightly. She steadies herself by placing her palms on his chest, and then he feels her hand, the cold metal of her rings, as she moves to Jordan. 

“Oh, she’s wet,” Orla gasps, telling Declan. Jordan moans, and he understands the movement now as she grinds on him and up against Orla’s fingers. 

He growls and digs his fingers into Orla’s skin—an unspoken, _yes, I fucking know_. Jordan’s rhythm changes, a little more sporadic now that Orla gives her something to rub off against. 

“You like the way he feels?” Orla asks Jordan, who says, “God, _yes_.” 

Declan groans at that, and he hears Orla chuckle. He flicks his tongue against her until the chuckle turns into a gasp, and she digs the nails of her free hand into Declan’s arm. Small victories, he thinks.

Jordan gasps, too, and by the noises she’s making, Declan knows she’s close. Orla encourages her, purring things like _yes, babe_ and _come for us, Jordan_. After just another minute, she does, sinking down on Declan all the way and digging her nails into his skin. He feels her tighten as it happens and he makes a frustrated, strangled noise at this, the most he can manage with his mouth against Orla.

Orla pats his arm and says, breathless, “Almost, baby, almost—”

Jordan doesn’t pull off, which just about breaks him, because he can feel her every twitch. Orla rocks against his mouth, which also almost breaks him, the taste of her much different than Jordan but just as sweet.

“Good, Declan,” Jordan murmurs, finished but still catching her breath as she runs her hands and the tips of her nails along his abdomen. Every place she grazes lights sparks at his nerve endings.

Declan feels Orla tense, so he presses his tongue firmly against her. She’s so flushed that Declan might be smug if he wasn’t currently so strung-out. Orla sighs as she comes, as though she’s _contented_ instead of _on fucking fire_ , which is how Declan feels.

Her legs shake a little, so Declan helps lift her up and away. In her absence, Jordan leans forward to kiss him. She brushes her lips against his, tasting, but when he reaches for her she pulls away. It’s not enough—but Jordan knows that. 

Declan curses as Jordan lifts herself off him, slow, just less than the friction he needs. Still enough to feel every inch of her. She nearly pulls off, but then sinks back down once, circling her hips once he’s fully inside her again. 

“Jordan, _fuck_ , I—” He starts, but she presses her lips lightly to his again, just enoughfor Declan to feel her grin. She liked to draw him out like this, test how far she could go before the tension broke. Declan liked to do the same to her, when he had any control. 

Jordan finally does remove herself, carefully. Orla, kneeling by Declan’s head, smooths his hair back from his face. She leans down to kiss his cheek, and then against his ear, she whispers, “Let go.” 

Jordan wraps her hand around his dick, but she doesn’t even make it to a stroke before the pressure of her fingers breaks him. Relief and pleasure flood through every part of him at once—he tilts his head backward into Orla’s palm and curses, gasping, as light explodes in his vision and he explodes onto his belly.

Once he’s spent, he feels Jordan move her hand to his, wrapping their fingers together. He breathes with his eyes closed a moment longer, mind blissfully blank. 

“Oh, my God,” he whispers eventually. Someone huffs a laugh at that, but he doesn’t have the words presently to describe his genuine reverence. He had always tried to be devout, had dragged his brothers to church every week for years, but he had remained unconvinced of holiness until he was given moments like this. To Declan, sex was a study in _feeling_ now, not thinking. In the afterglow it was suddenly easy for him to understand the peace that clergymen promised. 

Orla is pulling her fingers gently through his hair and Jordan is kissing along his arm and shoulder when he finally opens his eyes. Jordan smiles at him. He cups her face with one hand so he can brush his thumb against her cheek and exhales, heavy, as Orla presses a kiss to his forehead.

“Excellent work,” Orla murmurs, and her nails at his scalp give him chills. “You’ve improved since the last time we spent a night together, Lynch.”

Jordan laughs at that.

“You remember that?” He asks, looking up at her, unconvinced in his ability to move from where he’s lying.

“Not really. That’s why I said you improved. I won’t forget this.”

He chuckles, breathlessly, and takes the t-shirt Jordan hands him to wipe himself clean. They’re all a little sticky, but Jordan drapes herself against the side of him. She’s naked, and divine, and between the warmth of her and the pleasant tingling through his limbs, he decides a shower can wait.

“Go, team,” says Jordan, nuzzling her face into his neck. She fit against him easily. He loved it, even when her hair tickled his face. He brings his arm around Jordan and Orla moves to the other side of her, swinging her leg over the both of them. 

“I told you I was good at palm readings,” Orla says, grinning at Jordan’s shoulder. Jordan laughs and reaches to Orla’s hand so she can rest their interlaced palms on Declan’s chest.

They stay on the floor like that for a while. Declan traces his fingertips across any inch of Jordan’s bare skin he can reach. Orla nuzzles against Jordan’s back, and Declan thinks at one point she must be dozing. Jordan periodically presses small kisses to Declan’s neck and jaw. Eventually, they start to feel human again—full bladders, dry mouths, the itchy fibers of the rug below them.

Jordan’s phone dings suddenly and loudly from the coffee table, which effectively breaks the spell. Declan reaches for it and gives it to her while Orla blinks awake and stretches, reminding Declan entirely of an unbothered cat.

“Hennessy’s on her way,” Jordan says, tapping at her phone. “Says she’ll be here in 15.”

“I should go,” Orla sighs. “I have a long day of Harvard students ahead of me tomorrow.”

Declan doesn’t know what that means and he decides not to ask. He helps her collect her clothing, pulls some of his own back on, and swishes a mouthful of wine, which he regrets instantly.

“I’ll let you two know if I ever want to do this again,” she tells them once she’s dressed, like it’s the proper thing to say. She gathers her thick hair into a knot at the base of her neck and then leans down to kiss each of them.

“Can I walk you out?” Declan asks, because it’s polite. Orla clucks her tongue and smiles at him, pressing her hand briefly to his cheek.

“It’s been fun,” she says instead of answering. She walks to the door, kisses her fingers to wave them goodbye, and swings the door shut behind her.

Silence follows. Declan watches after the door for a moment longer and then looks to Jordan, who cackles as soon as he meets her eyes.

She pulls him back to the floor. They only just manage to make it to _dressed_ when the next knock at the door finally is Hennessy, some twenty minutes later. They ignore her questions about the furniture pushed astray, about Jordan’s dewy skin and Declan’s tousled hair, her questions about why Jordan wouldn’t just admit that she was living with Declan already, _for fuck’s sake Jordan, who are you trying to fool? Blink twice if you need help. I mean it._

At the end of the night, Hennessy finally crashes on the couch after a brief argument with Declan about _his_ brother being the one to bar her from returning to the hotel because he was getting handsy with Adam, therefore it couldn’t really be _Hennessy's_ fault if she dreamt something that would ruin Declan's apartment. 

Declan tells her that she and Ronan were made for each other and decides it’s time for bed. Jordan joins him shortly following, curling around him under the duvet to whisper, “Hey.”   
  
“Yes?” He whispers back, kissing her knuckles. 

“I saved her number.” 

“Orla’s?” 

“The one and only.” He can’t see her in the dark, but he can hear her grinning. 

He laughs and kisses her, adoring and exhausted. 

**Author's Note:**

> i just have to believe this happens somewhere along the timeline. 
> 
> thanks for reading! find me @ ghostsies on tumblr if you want to scream with me about declan or jordan. or orla


End file.
